


A Dwarven Oath

by aquileaofthelonelymountain



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Anniversary Celebrations, Banter, Cultural Differences, Established Relationship, Khuzdul, M/M, Nudity, Romance, Sappiness, Thilbo, bagginshield, fluffy fluff, post-botfa au, two dorks in love, unexpected anniversary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 06:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10736205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquileaofthelonelymountain/pseuds/aquileaofthelonelymountain
Summary: This year Thorin is determined to celebrate their anniversary on April 26th in a very dwarven way - even if he has to drag Bilbo high up on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain to surprise him.But - just like so many times before - it might end with him being surprised at Bilbo's resourcefulness ...





	A Dwarven Oath

**Author's Note:**

> It's April 26th, so have some fluff fluff fluff ^-^

„Take my hand.“

Thorin’s fingers wrapped around Bilbo’s wrist and pulled him towards him, thus helping him along the last metres of the steep path.

“I know you want to surprise me”, Bilbo said, his breath dancing in thin clouds in the air, “but will you at least tell me how far it is yet? I don’t think we can go up much further.” The hobbit looked at their surroundings: the peak of the Lonely Mountain, still towering above them, but seeming to be within reach; the pathway, leading even further although they had followed it for the most of the day; and the valley far, far below them. Down there it was already spring, but winter’s reign still lasted up here, and they had to protect themselves from the chill air and the snow with warm clothes, gloves, and boots – yes, boots. Bilbo had made quite some fuss about having to wear them, and they looked strangely big on his feet indeed … which didn’t mean that it wasn’t a charming sight, though.

“You’re right”, Thorin replied with a smile. He didn’t let go of Bilbo’s hand as they went on. “We’ll be there soon, and it will be worth the long way, I promise.” He was already looking forward to the comforts that awaited them although they had left even the highest watchtowers on the slopes of the mountain far behind them. He hadn’t told Bilbo of them, though – not yet. As the hobbit had said: It should be a surprise. “I wouldn’t drag you so high up into the mountain otherwise.”

“It would be a strange way to celebrate our anniversary tomorrow indeed”, Bilbo teased good-humouredly. The next section of the path was broad and not too steep, so he leaned against him. “Do you remember it, love – our first anniversary?” He chuckled; the sound was full of memories. “I braided flowers into your hair because I had nothing else I could’ve given you. Erebor was still so new to me, and strange.”

“I remember”, Thorin answered tenderly. “I put one of my own beads into your hair because I was still too weak to go into the forges and make a proper one for you.” He smiled; the same bead was still woven into Bilbo’s hair. The dwarf had tried to replace it with a proper marriage bead every now and then, but Bilbo had insisted on keeping the simple silver bead that matched the one in Thorin’s own hair.

They walked in idle silence, their hands woven together until they reached a snow-covered plateau. A part of it was hidden in thick fog, and Bilbo raised his eyebrows in question at the sight. He didn’t say anything, however, as Thorin led him to the mountain side on their left. Now they were almost at the peak; the highest point of the Lonely Mountain wasn’t far away anymore.

Thorin headed towards an overhanging rock. It didn’t seem special at first glance, but a heavy wooden door was hidden in the shadows beneath it. It had no carvings – wind and weather would grind them off anyway. Its only purpose was to protect the chamber behind it, and it took Thorin some effort to push the heavy door open.

The light of the dwindling afternoon fell into a corridor that took a sharp turn after a few steps – another way to protect the chamber from incoming snow. There was no torch, but Thorin knew that there was a fireplace, and he had already taken some flints out of his backpack. He closed the door and, with one of Bilbo’s hands on his waist, led on. His eyes, accustomed to walking in darkness, found the fireplace quickly. Embers flashed, and in the light of the awakening flame he expectantly tilted his head back and gave Bilbo a little nudge to do the same.

They stared at the grey ceiling for a while, but as the warmth of the fire spread, a red spark appeared in the darkness above them.

“What’s this?”, Bilbo whispered, edging closer to him.

“Wizards are not the only ones to work magic”, Thorin answered, looking with the same amazement as the hobbit as more and more sparks appeared. He had held his breath without even noticing, and he felt excited as a pebble. He had only heard of this marvel his forebears had created, and he watched in awe as the ceiling was slowly turned into a starlit sky. Some of the sparks were only tiny points, but some were bigger, almost the size of a hand, and together with the open fire they filled the chamber with a warm light.

For its remote position high up in the mountain it was well furnished: The fire place was already spreading cosy warmth, and its smoke disappeared in the ceiling through a hidden tunnel. There were dishes, pots and kettles on a shelf next to it. A table with two stools was there as well, and the floor was covered with thick carpets. There was a mix of colours and patterns, as if someone – or many people – had simply brought what they could spare up here. The same applied of the panelled walls and the colourful tapestries. It was a varied mixture, and yet everything looked as if it was exactly where it should be, and the chamber was warm and welcoming.

“I can’t believe such a place exists that high up in the Lonely Mountain”, Bilbo exclaimed in astonishment, his gaze still captivated by the starlit ceiling. “Where are we exactly?”

“This, my dear”, Thorin explained as he helped Bilbo to take his backpack off, “is a place where dwarves can come to have some time for themselves … and to celebrate their relationship. I will tell you all about it, but only tomorrow. It’s not our anniversary yet.” He laughed as Bilbo pouted not too convincingly. “I’ll tell you a bit more about this place nonetheless, but let’s make ourselves comfortable first, shall we?”

He took Bilbo’s heavy coat and put it on a peg next to the fire. When he turned around, he couldn’t help smiling at the sight he was offered: His hobbit sat on a stool and was bending down to his feet. His face was the definition of concentration – even his tongue peeked out between his lips – as he fiddled about with the laces of his boots.

Thorin knelt down in front of him. “Let me do this for you.” He quickly undid the laces – but not so quickly that he couldn’t enjoy the sight. Bilbo’s face was still flushed from the chill air, the strenuous way, and – the dwarf knew him well enough – also because he had to help him out of his boots as if he were a child.

The colour on his cheeks deepened as Thorin’s hands lingered on his bare skin, his thumb drawing slow circles around his ankles.

“This place”, he began without stopping the caress, “is special to the people of Erebor, but very few come here. It’s a long way, after all. And we don’t go here alone, but with someone who is very dear to us.” He sighed with content as Bilbo began to comb his fingers through his hair, and he rested his head against his thigh. “This chamber, however, isn’t the destination of our journey. We still have to go up the last part – it’s not more than a walk of two hours. But we won’t go further today. We’ll stay here and rest.”

He had closed his eyes, enjoying the gentle movement of Bilbo’s fingers along his scalp, but he opened them again when Bilbo asked: “Dís has been here as well, am I right?”

The dwarf raised his head to look at him in surprise. “Exactly. She has been here last autumn with her sons. Did she tell you about it?” He hoped his sister hadn’t told him too much; he had been so looking forward to see the surprise on Bilbo’s face.

To his relief, the hobbit shook his head. “Look.” He pointed towards the corner of the room. There was no bed, but a mattress and an inviting heap of blankets and furs. Above it hang an elaborate tapestry in green and gold. “I remember seeing it in her rooms.”

“I see.” Thorin raised his head. “It is tradition to bring something. Like an offering, no, more like a gift.”

“Oh, you should have told me that!” Bilbo gave one of his braids a light tug. “I would have liked to bring something special along.”

“Don’t worry, I think I made a good choice for the both of us.” He left his cosy position and began to search his backpack for the gift. Bilbo got up as well and looked curiously over his shoulder.

“How gorgeous!”, he exclaimed as the dwarf presented him a small wooden box. It was covered with intricate carvings, but not so many that the beauty of the wood itself was lost among them. “So that was the secret you were working on lately.” Bilbo carefully traced a finger along the pattern. His gaze softened as he followed the lines that formed a branch of oak leaves and acorns on the lid.

“Open it.”

The hobbit did so and let out a laugh as the smell of tea leaves rose into his nose. “That’s _my_ tea! Who is the burglar now, hm?”

“How about a cup of tea as an apology?” Thorin snatched a kiss from Bilbo before he prepared a meal for them. It wasn’t the feast someone would expect on the day before their anniversary, but it was close enough. The servants had put much effort into their provision, as if they had been preparing a picnic: bread and cheese, cold meat pie and scones, nuts and dried fruits, even biscuits and small tartlets, and yet more delicacies. Thorin knew the reason behind their endeavours: They always made an effort for their king, but they had surpassed themselves for Bilbo. The kitchen servants – and they weren’t the only ones – were very fond of the hobbit who sometimes visited them to talk about dwarven recipes and hobbit cuisine, cooking and baking in general, or to show them some trick and learn from them in turn.

The food was as delicious as it looked, and thanks to the generosity of the kitchen staff they were soon more than satisfied. After a second cup of tea, Thorin asked Bilbo: “Are you ready for your first surprise?”

Bilbo smiled, but said nothing and waited for him to continue.

“It’s outside … Can I trust you not to look before I tell you, or”, Thorin grinned, “do I have to blindfold you?”

The hobbit grinned back at him, and he trailed a finger along his neckerchief playfully. “Of course you can trust me! But maybe you should blindfold me nonetheless? After all, I could accidentally stumble and open my eyes …”

“Well then. But first you have to take off your clothes.”

Bilbo laughed. “Oh Thorin, my dear, your try to seduce me could be way more subtle than this!” His laughter ebbed away, and suddenly he frowned. “Wait – are you just telling me that we have to go outside? In the snow? Naked?”

“I am.” Thorin approached him and began to loosen his neckerchief. “But the cold will only last a few moments, I assure you.”

“That’s a rather ambiguous statement”, Bilbo replied, but didn’t object as he helped him out of his shirt. Thorin’s touches were lingering, and who could blame him? When it was Bilbo’s turn to unlace his tunic, he also took his time. His slender fingers, now warmed by fire and tea, roamed slowly about his furry chest. His hand came to a stop at Thorin’s side, at the scar there. His eyes darkened for a moment – they always did because of this memento of Ravenhill. But the moment passed, and as Bilbo raised himself on tiptoes, Thorin bent down so the hobbit could reach the scar on his forehead to breathe a kiss on it. He always did after being remembered of the almost fatal wound.

Thorin didn’t let him draw back, but cupped his face. “I think I’d rather cover your eyes with my hands”, he muttered. “So I’ve got a good excuse to stay close to you.”

“And you will keep me warm”, Bilbo added with a wink. “So what are we waiting for?”

Together they left the chamber. Even Thorin felt the cold on his skin as he closed the door behind them, and he could clearly see the shiver that ran through Bilbo’s body. He stepped behind him, close enough to feel his back against his chest, and Bilbo shuffled even closer immediately. The dwarf reached out to cover his eyes and pressed a kiss onto his neck. “I’ll guide you.”

Snow crunched beneath their feet, and wafts of fog surrounded them soon. The mist wasn’t cold, though, but warmed them, and Thorin smiled in anticipation.

“Here we are”, he eventually said and removed his hands.

There was a moment of silence, followed by Bilbo’s delighted laugh. “A hot spring! That’s a wonderful surprise indeed.” He was already on his way and carefully stepped into the pool. It was small, roughly hewn from the rock, with steps leading into it, and the edges were carved into a bench seat. Bilbo sunk into the hot water until he was covered up to the shoulders, and a content sigh came over his lips.

“I didn’t expect to find such a thing up here”, he told Thorin who made himself comfortable on the bench. “This place is full of surprises!”

“It’s a marvel indeed”, the dwarf replied. “You often find hot springs in the depths of the mountain, but usually not this far up. The well must be somewhere in the rock beneath us, but I’m afraid the records about it were lost long ago. I’d like to regain the knowledge about it, though. I think I should send some investigators up here.”

“Or you don’t, and this place keeps an air of mystery.” Bilbo opened his arms. “What are you waiting for, love? Come on, I’ll scrub your back.”

Thorin didn’t need to be told twice, and soon he found himself leaning back against Bilbo, with the hobbit’s hands caressing his neck and running through his hair. The warmth of the water and the gentle touch made him drowsy, and he felt like purring like a satisfied cat.

“A wonderful surprise”, Bilbo said and nuzzled his hair.

“I’m glad you like it”, Thorin answered. He reached for the hobbit’s hand and squeezed it gently. “I know it’s quite different to our previous anniversary celebrations. But this year, I wanted to celebrate with you in a … very dwarven way.”

“I really enjoy it”, Bilbo said quietly, his fingers dancing across Thorin’s chest. “And I’m looking forward to what you will show me tomorrow.” Wind tore the steam that rose from the pool apart, and they could see the first stars in the darkening sky. They shone bright in the cloudless sky, and they seemed so close. “Although today shouldn’t end either, I think.”

“So”, Thorin said slowly, his voice filled with amusement, “you forgive me for dragging you up in the mountain, and even making you go outside naked?”

“Maybe.” Bilbo lengthened the word. “That is, if you don’t let me go through the snow naked again.”

Thorin laughed and turned to pull the hobbit onto his lap. “I promise that I will carry you back, and then I will lay you down on a cosy bed of furs in front of the warm fire.”

“And …?”, Bilbo teased, bringing their faces so close together that Thorin could feel his breath on his skin.

“And I will kiss you to make up for every single snowflake you had to tread on.”

“Is that so?” The hobbit grinned. “Maybe I should go back on my own feet after all!”

 

***

 

The fire had almost died down during the night, and the glowing stars at the ceiling had nearly faded. The air was chill, and the furs had slipped away during their sleep. Drowsily Thorin breathed a kiss on the bare shoulder next to him before he reached for the furs and pulled them up. With a sigh he nestled against the soft form in his arms. Bilbo smelled of the mineral-rich water of the hot pool, of the open fire, and of last night’s caresses. His skin was warm with sleep, and Thorin’s hands wandered leisurely about it.

His touch was light, and yet the hobbit began to stir. “Good morning”, he mumbled.

“Good morning, and happy anniversary.” The furs shifted as Bilbo moved, thus exposing his shoulders again. Thorin pressed a kiss on one of them, and his hands brushed over them, trailed along Bilbo’s arms and disappeared beneath the furs.

“Goodness, Thorin”, Bilbo muttered while the dwarf’s thumb drew slow circles around his navel, “you’re very keen on starting with the celebrations, aren’t you?”

“Can you blame me?”, Thorin chuckled, his lips barely leaving Bilbo’s neck as he spoke. The hobbit shuddered at the sensation and rocked back a little to be closer to him. A soft moan passed his lips as Thorin let his hands wander deeper and whispered: “You deem me rather keen as well, _givashel_.”

Bilbo tilted his head, and Thorin took the chance to run his lips along his nape. “Can you blame me?”, he echoed the dwarf’s words.

Thus occupied they stayed in bed until late morning, and it was only after a lazy breakfast and another soak in the hot pool that they were on the way to the peak of the Lonely Mountain.

The last section proved to be strenuous, despite the track dwarves had beaten into the rock generations ago. Parts of it, however, were hidden beneath rubble and snow after decades of neglect, and the way was steep at that. There were passages – only short and few, at least – that even Thorin thought to be slippery, and he never let go of Bilbo’s hand.

Eventually they reached another plateau, and Thorin declared: “We’re here.”

“Really?” Bilbo sounded breathless, and he gave the dwarf a suspicious look before he pointed to another pinnacle that still rose above their heads. “Don’t you miss something, love?”

“We won’t go up there. Nobody ever does. It is Mahal’s Seat. Sometimes the Maker leaves his halls beyond the sea and comes to look at the lands he has created together with his brothers and sisters, and then he rests up there.” He led Bilbo towards the edge of the plateau. “And this is what he sees.”

The land stretched endlessly beneath them. They could see the Long Lake shining in the afternoon sun, Mirkwood was a faraway mass of dark dots, and even the mountains to the east seemed incredibly small from their position. They drank in the view wordlessly. Thorin was as enthralled by the sight as the hobbit. He had never been up here before, and it was about time to tell Bilbo the reason behind their little adventure.

They sat down on a blanket the dwarf took from his backpack. It would stop the worst cold from seeping into Bilbo’s bones, and Thorin’s own body warmth would help as well. They huddled close together, and he put an arm around his hobbit.

“You know”, he quietly began, “there is a reason why we are here. This mountain … Erebor is our home. It offers us protection. But there are also dangers – not in its depths alone, but on its outside as well … especially on its outside. Going up into the mountain can quickly get dangerous. So when a dwarf of Erebor asks someone to join him on his way up here, he tells the other that he trusts him with his life, and that he will take care of him in turn. Such a question is a sign of trust. Two people who get up into the mountain together will always share a special bond, and if they go as far as to Mahal’s seat … nothing will ever be able to break their bond.”

He broke off. Suddenly he felt rather awkward – dragging Bilbo out into the cold for nothing more than an old story, even if it may be a pretty one.

But then Bilbo leaned back against him. “ _Amrâlimê_ ”, he said softy.

Thorin smiled; he loved to hear the hobbit speaking Khuzdul. It sounded endearing: The hobbit’s sweet voice wasn’t really made for the harsh sounds of the dwarf-tongue, but he brought a lovely tone to it. His pronunciation was sometimes unfamiliar, but he was very gifted in language, and he had learned it very quickly.

Much to Thorin’s surprise Bilbo continued to speak in Khuzdul, and the smile on his face was replaced by a frown of confusion as he realized what exactly the hobbit was saying. He tensed against his will as he listened. That couldn’t be.  The words Bilbo spoke to him … The hobbit couldn’t know their meaning, could he? He’d probably stumbled upon them during his studies, not knowing what saying them would mean …

But Bilbo continued, and his last word wasn’t Khuzdul, but Thorin’s name. The dwarf placed his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders and turned him towards him. He had to ask. He had to know if Bilbo was aware of what he had just said, if he meant it, and –

Thorin didn’t have to ask. As soon as he saw the tender smile upon Bilbo’s lips and the fondness in his eyes Thorin knew that his beloved was very well aware of the meaning.

The dwarf, in turn, was speechless. He could only stare open-mouthed at him. Bilbo’s smile widened a bit, and he tilted his head half questioningly, half amused. It was the slight nudge, the reminder that Thorin needed. He laid a hand on Bilbo’s cheek, somehow afraid that he was dreaming after all, that Bilbo could disappear if he didn’t hold on to him, and repeated the hobbit’s words … his oath.

“ _Love of mine_ ”, he breathed in Khuzdul, “ _I will be yours even when the last embers in the forge have faded, when the halls of the kings lie in darkness, when the mountains themselves have crumbled into dust. Even then my heart and my soul will be yours, Bilbo.”_

Thorin’s voice shook as he spoke this oath, and Bilbo covered his trembling hand with his. He smiled reassuringly, but the sight only made his throat feel constricted. This oath … It was a promise for eternity.

Actually, dwarven marriage was a vow that lasted for two lives: the one here in Middle-Earth, and the next across the sea, in the halls of the Maker. There the dwarves waited, and eventually they would help their creator to rebuild the world. But thereafter? Nobody knew what would be then.

This vow was an oath of love, a promise to find each other, to stay together whatever would happen. Even if there should be only darkness, mind and soul and heart would be bond together.

He felt Bilbo’s free hand around his neck, and the hobbit brought their faces close together. He didn’t say a word, but his soft gaze reminded Thorin once again that there was still something to do. Just what would he do without Bilbo? The oath had to be spoken thrice – once by each of the lovers, and once by both of them together.

 _“Love of mine”,_ both of them whispered, “ _I will be yours even when the last embers in the forge have faded, when the halls of the kings lie in darkness, when the mountains themselves have crumbled into dust.”_

_“Even then my heart and my soul will be yours, Bilbo.”_

_“Even then my heart and my soul will be yours, Thorin.”_

Thorin let out a shaky little laugh. He was breathless, and he didn’t get a chance to recover it as Bilbo sealed his lips with a lingering kiss. “I love you”, he whispered, but Thorin didn’t manage an answer. His heart was full, almost bursting. But Bilbo only smiled. He understood him. He always did, and he always would.

Even when the last embers in the forge would fade, when the halls of the kings would lie in darkness, when the mountains themselves would crumble into dust.


End file.
